Chapter 9: NightTown Pub

My back grew slick with sweat as I deciphered the symbols on the parchment. Each twist and curve slowly morphed into recognizable letters and words, causing my heart to race with every line I read.

The languages that had the power to manipulate the forces of nature, the foundational languages of mysticism, the very ones that powered spells. These were referred to as the Mystic Languages, with Magic Codex being among the most renowned.

Yet, the arcane script on this sheet was not from the Magic Codex. Rather, it bore the unmistakable markings of what many termed the Devil's Codex!

Why can I even read this?! I questioned myself as my eyes widened in realization. Why was Alister Klemort learning the Devil's Codex? This language is banned! It's prohibited!

Abruptly rising from my seat, I strode to the door. In one fluid motion, I locked it, then turned my attention back to the parchment on the desk.

Spell type: Curse

Spell Name: Khrwhiezehqi

Effect: A curse that casts a shadow of misfortune over its target for an entire month.

Enchantment:

Kajepbw usirsh hejajsg usoafs "Luck" hapkwf jahsbk jajwfwn haifaj haosha jwkhee "Curse!" jaosts jauags hajsus "Dark" "Caro!" Seiag haissb "Khrwhiezehqi!"

The highlighted words, such as "Curse," were the primary components. While a scholar would need to recite the entire incantation to cast the spell, a master would only need to vocalize the highlighted words accompanied by half of the supporting chants.

Returning to the document, I noted it contained two more spells. The second, Spiritus Silex, was an offensive incantation. The third, Umberos, could temporarily blind its target based on the target's strength.

These appeared to be dark spells, typical of those with a darkness affinity. After a moment's hesitation, I transcribed all three spells, including their chants, into my notebook.

Drawing a lighter from my pocket, I set the sheet ablaze. When it was more than halfway consumed, I moved to the washroom and deposited the flaming remnants into the sink, ensuring the fire didn't scorch my hands. Once the document was wholly reduced to ashes, I returned to my desk. Safely stowing the notebook in a drawer, I secured it with a lock enhanced with protective runes. With that done, I reclined in my chair, exhaling deeply.

Alister Klemort, better known by his pseudonym, Sebastian Lemonhgrey. Who was this enigmatic figure? While he now stood as a peak scholar, by the time the protagonist, Jonh Lombardi, encountered him, he had already ascended to the rank of a master, having achieved this breakthrough a month prior.

As Jonh's mentor, Sebastian enlightened him on the intricacies of mysticism, forging a deep bond between the two. Their relationship wasn't just that of a teacher and student; it was profound and based on mutual respect.

Sebastian was a good man, having sacrificed himself for the greater good, saving countless lives. He wasn't just a mentor; he was a significant influence on Jonh. It was Sebastian's actions and teachings that played a pivotal role in shaping Jonh Lombardi's character and personality.

But now, questions swirled in my head. Why did the storyline deviate? Why was he taken from the plot so soon? And that sheet with the three dark spells—where did that come from? Could Evan have been responsible for it? Or was it more likely the journalist he mentioned?

I deftly slid my hand into my pocket, retrieving the pocket watch. Though still fastened to my button, I gave it a cursory glance without detaching it. An eyebrow raised in contemplation.

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Could this watch be the source of the anomalies? Its very presence seemed erroneous, as, by this timeline, it should've been safeguarded with the church.

I possessed an acute sense of observation, discerning thoughts and emotions just from subtle expressions and gestures. I was adept at reading people, and my brain could analyze situations in the blink of an eye. Furthermore, I was fluent in multiple mystic languages and had a thorough understanding of every alley and turn in this city. Moreover, I felt a sense of familiarity with individuals that Sebastian knew.

But with all this knowledge and familiarity, the pressing question remained: why didn't I inherit the memories of my predecessor?

I slowly placed the pocket watch back into its designated pocket. Retrieving my cigar case, I flipped open its metal lid with a satisfying click, selected a cigar, and indulged in the rich scent of tobacco.

Positioning it between my lips, I lit it, allowing the aroma to fill the room as I took a deep puff. Holding the cigar between my index and middle finger, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, immersing myself in contemplation. As minutes trickled by, a frown began to mar my expression.

A sudden, sharp headache punctuated my thoughts, as if my mind was resisting the push into the past. Undeterred, I concentrated, trying to force the memories to surface.

...Oder... First Oder.

...Sermort!

Alister!

Shards of memories, like fragments of a puzzle, seemed to dangle in the infinite expanse of a star-filled sky within my mind. Desperately, I reached out, attempting to grasp these elusive fragments. But an unknown force was holding me back, pulling me deeper into the abyss. The sensation was maddening, as if the very essence of my being was being tugged at, keeping those memories just out of reach.

"Veronair... Veronair... Veronair..." The word echoed incessantly, sounding like the relentless ravings of a lunatic. Suddenly, I was jolted back to reality, finding myself in my room. My eyes stung with the sensation of blood, and I tried to voice my agony, but my scream was trapped, silenced.

Overwhelmed by the pain, I collapsed off my chair, hitting the ground hard. An agonizing two minutes passed before the throbbing headache and the relentless echo of the ravings subsided. Shakily, I got to my feet, wiping away the blood from my eyes.

Slowly, I pushed myself upright and noticed the fallen cigar nearby. Picking it up, I took a soothing puff. What had just transpired shook me to the core. To steady my nerves, I took another deep puff from the cigar.

The sense of detachment had utterly left me. I was entangled deeply in this web, and even though I was aware of my limited time, this realization hit me even harder.

With these thoughts swirling in my head, I paced the room until my eyes landed on a towel. Picking it up, I wiped the sweat from my brow. Straightening my coat, I glanced at the door. Rest was a luxury I couldn't afford now.

[NightTown pub]

She was a lass with raven hair, and eyes like the night He, a dapper gentleman, dressed in evening light Their eyes met 'cross the room, a spark 'twas clear to see

Oh, the streets are dim, and the night is young In this tavern, where the songs are sung Raise your voices high, let the chorus ring In this pub, where the stories cling

As the clock ticked past ten in the evening, I found myself nestled in a private room of the pub. My gaze fixated on the crystal-clear glass filled with exquisite alcohol. Stirring the glass, I took a moment to appreciate the scent of the alcohol, with an elegance reminiscent of the nobility. I sipped quietly, letting the flavor sit.

"What, trying to act like a noble now?" The ambiance could've passed for a noble's exclusive retreat if not for the gruff voice that broke the illusion. Turning towards the source of the voice, I eyed two individuals, both appearing to be in their mid-twenties. Donning baker boy caps and distinct suits, their affiliation was clear.

"You Bree boys, ensure that the guns reach the address within three days."

Gazing at them, I could feel my presence bearing down on them, my voice deepening as I became more attuned to this body and its mannerisms.

"Threatening us, are you?" The one on the right snapped.

"Observation rather than a threat," I retorted evenly. "I'm well aware of your illicit activities. If you have any intentions of avoiding the enforcers, I suggest you deliver the firearms I asked for."

"Do you take us for idiots?" The other one spat out, irritation evident in his tone. "You see," I began, extracting a cigarette from my sleek metal case. I lit it smoothly, took a moment to savor the initial inhale, and then exhaled, directing the smoke upward. "A friend of mine once remarked," I continued, a smirk forming on my lips, recalling the iconic words of Sir Shelby.

"Big fucks small."

"Apparently, I must be very small for the Bree family. You people think I can't harm you? Well, to hell with you people, I had to find someone bigger than you, someone who is bigger than the law themselves, the enforcers."

Before they could muster a response, I pressed on. "An illicit gambling den behind the facade of a market district grocery store?" Their eyes widened in alarm.

"Shall I go on?"